The Magician's Cousins
by Tonzura123
Summary: Eustace's gift is a little more... volatile than his cousins'. No slash. Rated for explosive spells and dragonish tempers. P.E-verse.
1. Doddering

**"The Magician's Cousins"**

**by Tonzura123**

**Disclaimer: I own Creature and Wisp, but none of the lovely human characters...**

***Just a quick note- this takes place _after_ "The Silver Chair" and one year _before_ "Last Battle." Edmund is eighteen, Peter is twenty-one, Lucy is sixteen, and Eustace is fifteen. **

* * *

_"Now there are diversities of gifts, but the same Spirit, "_

I Corinthians 12:4

* * *

_Autumn, 1948_

None of the Pevensies had it, that was for certain. They had been using the Old Narnian language for years, in private, in public, before Aslan and before battle. It sat on their tongues well ahead of English, just as their nobility was difficult to smother with the attitudes and outlooks of typical teenagers. But not one of them had ever used Old Narnian in _that_ sense- They simply didn't have the Mark of a Magician.

"Oh," said Eustace Clarence Scrubb. "Oops."

They all stared at Creature. Edmund's hands were white-knuckling his hair.

"_Oops?" _the Just King demanded. "You _decimated _my bike!"

"I could- I might be able to-"

There was no way that Eustace could, or would be able to do anything. The bike _was _decimated: shredded into little cubic inches, reduced to a pile of motorcycle blocks.

In the autumn-shaded back lawn of the Pevensie home, tucked inside the leaning shack that held most of Edmund's experiments, the four had gathered to talk (as usual) about Narnia. After about an hour of just reliving the memories of the winds and the waters and the feel of the Narnian sun, the discussion had led to Peter's idiotic recovery of Old Narnian. This was something that happened as he was browsing through the Cair's library one day, and Edmund and Peter had fallen to jibing one another in that very dead language, much to Lucy and Eustace's amusement.

And Eustace, like a baby that doesn't understanding any part of a language but is very eager to learn, had repeated them.

Peter was still trying to decide if he should be grateful, impressed, or terrified. Lucy was wondering if she'd have to restrain Edmund from flying at their cousin. The only thing that came to Edmund's mind was months of hand-crafting and fine-tuning and double checking. They stared at Creature's remains a while longer.

Peter decided on an underhanded employ of fairness; "Creature didn't work anyways, Ed."

"She was _going _to," Edmund moaned. He released his hair to stagger towards the scrap metal and leaking kerosene. "I had all kinds of revisions for her..." He dropped onto his knees and touched the pile with reverence.

"I'm sure when I'm older, I'll understand," Lucy said.

"You wouldn't understand, Lu," Edmund sniffed. "It's a boy thing."

"More like an Edmund thing," Peter muttered to her, not wanting his sister to get the wrong idea.

Eustace was feeling more and more the guilt of what he had done. He stepped towards his mourning cousin with palms up, helpless but wanting to help. "For what it's worth, I'm really, really sorry, Cousin."

Edmund fell forward so that his forehead was buried in the oil-stained rubble. "Just leave me here to die."

It was at this point that Peter put a hand on Eustace's shoulder and steered him around back towards the kitchen. "Don't worry about him, Eustace. Ed tends to get a little, er, _melodramatic _about his projects."

Lucy nodded from Eustace's other side. "Remember the hurricane that washed away the Eastern roads?"

Peter did remember and grinned. "He'll get over it," he confided in Eustace. "To be honest, he loves the challenge of utter defeat."

"Great," mumbled Eustace.

Lucy slapped her brother on the arm and replaced him at Eustace's side. She walked him through the kitchen door and sat him at the table, placing a tin of chocolate biscuits in front of him. A three-legged cat leaped onto the table beside it and Lucy lifted it up and off with one hand.

"_No_," she said, pointing at the cat.

The cat looked up at her, unimpressed, and tried to hop back up, but Peter caught it in mid-leap. From there he held it against his chest, nestled grudgingly into the crook of his arm.

"Why don't you see Edmund?" he asked it. He stroked a finger up the bridge of its nose and back down, smiling when its eyes rolled into its skull. "I'm sure he'd appreciate your company, cousin."

"Hmm?" Eustace asked, looking up from the tin. His cheeks were stuffed with half-soggy chocolate crumbs.

"Not you, Cousin. This cousin." Peter gestured to the cat with his chin.

Eustace looked strangely at the animal, but as soon as he did, the cat began to writhe in Peter's arms, trying to get away. It fell out and onto its three feet, looked back to hiss, then disappeared through the cracked door into the streaming sunlight.

"Even his cat hates me," Eustace said mournfully, dipping back into the tin for comfort. "I really didn't mean to break the bike. It was an accident. I just said-"

Lucy clapped her hand over his mouth and shook her head once. When he'd nodded back, she released him.

"... I said _the Narnian word _that I'd heard you say. That's all. And then Creature was in pieces."

"First of all," she said, "Edmund doesn't _hate _you. Secondly, whatever you meant to do, I think it's rather obvious what came out of it."

Lucy looked meaningfully to Peter, who had crossed his arms in thought.

"I can't see another reason," he admitted to her.

Eustace paused his emotional eating long enough to glance suspiciously between the royal siblings.

"What? What aren't you two telling me?" Eustace demanded. "You're using that blasted Pevensie-mind-reading ability again, aren't you?"

Peter looked at him, but seemed to stare through him, and when he spoke again, it was still to Lucy; "The Professor?"

"At the very least," she replied. "I know Edmund's dealt with that type more than us."

"But is he up to it?" Peter asked her.

Lucy smiled slyly at him. "Edmund _loves _the challenge of utter defeat."

"Now that's just insulting," Eustace objected. "I'm not _that_ bad off, whatever is wrong with me."

**OooooooooOoooooooooO**

"That bad?" Eustace asked weakly.

The station around them roared with engines and the clashing crush of voices. Smoke and steam and the smell of sausages filled the air. Eustace's stomach rumbled longingly. At his side were a few suitcases and his cousins. Peter and Lucy dressed lightly, but Edmund, with his own suitcase, carried his coat and hat like a sort of armour.

"That bad," Edmund confirmed.

"Not _that _bad," Peter teased. He shook hands with Eustace and kissed him on the forehead. In an undertone, he said, "Whatever his mood, Edmund won't let you out of sight."

Eustace was not overjoyed to hear that he would have a warden- or such a stony one at that. All the same, he watched curiously as Peter repeated his actions on Edmund, and as Lucy traded Peter for a last embrace with her cousin. Over her shoulder, Eustace spied Edmund dragging Peter into a rough hug. The brothers exchanged something, probably in Old Narnian, because the sound filled Eustace's ears like music, but he could make neither head nor tail of it.

"Try not to break any windows," Peter called to Edmund, as they boarded the train.

"Try not to get lost on the way to the cabbie," Edmund retorted.

They saluted one another with matching grins and Eustace felt a deep pang. Not for the first time, he missed his own best friend, Jill Pole, like a severed limb.

"Write us!" Lucy called. The train began to pull away and Edmund hung out of the door to wave. "Ring us!"

"Don't let Mum throw Creature in the rubbish!" Edmund called. "And make sure Wisp eats!"

Eustace watched with Edmund until Peter and Lucy grew into tiny, faceless nothings. Only when they vanished completely did Edmund climb into the corridor of the swaying carriage, pushing his suitcase before him like a bowsprit. They found an empty compartment towards the middle with cramped seats and the nostaglic aroma of the nineteenth century.

"You still haven't explained why I need to leave London," Eustace pointed out to his cousin, once they'd settled.

"When we've reached an less populated area."

It really _was_ that bad, then.

They sat rocking along the tracks for good quarter-hour before Eustace tried to restart conversation. He said the first thing that came to his mind;

"I've been wondering," Eustace said. "Why does Peter kiss us whenever we leave? Is it part of some kind of ceremony you all had in Narnia?"

Edmund stared out of the window, dark eyes tracking the racing landscape. "Imagine if whenever Jill left you, it was so that she could go to war. Half of the time, she comes back missing an arm or bleeding out or raving from weeks of torture; You'd start making sure she knew how you felt, wouldn't you? It'd become quite the habit, wouldn't it?"

Eustace didn't quite know how to answer. The very idea disturbed that calm and stable part of him, forcing him to try to order how to return to his former peace. He fell into deep, silent thought, and did not speak for the rest of the journey.

It wasn't until much later that Eustace realized that had probably been Edmund's intention all along.

**OooooooooOoooooooooO**

"... The Professor knew we were coming."

Edmund was tapping his foot. Eustace had learned that this was a Very Bad Sign. It typically manifested itself when Eustace missed a swing or dropped his sword point or made any number of missteps with his footing. It preceded only the Truly Terrible Thing, which involved a wooden sword, a flurry of movement that Eustace could not hope to follow, and the satisfying rush of wind being kicked out of his lungs as he hit the ground.

"Traffic?" Eustace wondered.

Edmund's eyes bore down the dusty road for a moment longer, then he reached down for his suitcase and jumped off of platform onto the gnarled grass below. Eustace quickly followed, but his suitcase spilled open on impact and he had to jog to catch up a ways down the path.

"There's not a soul in sight," he noted.

"Mmm."

Eustace turned as he walked, craning back his neck to find the treetops and the burning sun. The air was pure and fresh and smelled of gentle decay; Autumn was late this year.

"Nice day," he said, but Edmund did not deign to reply. Eustace found that the longer Edmund kept mum, the further he was falling into his old temperament. Bitter, soured little seeds of thought starting sprouting around in his head: Edmund didn't trust him. Edmund didn't like him. Edmund would rather be anywhere but here.

So they walked along the road in absolute silence, with Eustace' eyes drilling into the back of Edmund's head and his broken suitcase threatening to spill out of his hands again with every other step. He inspected it a little closer. The buckle was dented, insufficient. It grabbed at the case a little, but couldn't hold on. He would simply have to order a new one or else borrow from the Professor. What a way to start an adventure! said the little bitter seeds. Already owing allies. Already alienating friends.

Reep would have his sword out by now, he reflected. Jill would have sussed out a clue.

He kicked a pebble. It struck off from his shoe magnificently- arcing through the air and hitting Edmund square between his shoulder blades.

Edmund stopped. Eustace balked.

"_What?"_Edmund turned to ask him. He was irritated, but not volcanic. If anything, he seemed a little grateful for the chance to surface from his thoughts.

"What are we _doing _here?" Eustace asked. "In the country. What's wrong with me?"

Edmund squinted. "Nothing's... _wrong _with you, Eustace."

"Something's wrong." Eustace swallowed hard, the truth of it perhaps hitting him for the first time. "I decimated your bike. With one word!"

"Please," Edmund said. "At your caliber, you need more than one word. You had to say a string of them, didn't you?"

Eustace felt his eyes bulge. "What does that even _mean?"_

"Well, that depends, Eustace." Edmund's face became very somber. He stepped up to Eustace and gripped him by the shoulder- one noble to another;

"How do feel about doddering around in dressing gowns?"

* * *

**A/N:**

**Part One of a Two-shot (maybe three) of Eustace Clarence Scrubb's admission to magician-hood. **

**I think I said something on Facebook about Eustace's natural propensity for science being a good basis for this sort of Gift. How many of us have read fantasy books that explain magic in a scientific way? To be fair, Eustace's power doesn't extend beyond technology. But we'll see more on that later.**

**Also- keep an eye open for certain de-Narnianized Centaurs!**

**Like it? Hate it? Upset about Merlin ending this year? Leave a review or PM me!**

**As Always,**

**-Tonzura123**


	2. Cousin Edmund's Brain is a Bag of Cats

**THE MAGICIAN'S COUSINS**

**By Tonzura123**

**CHAPTER TWO: Cousin Edmund's Brain is a Bag of Cats**

**Disclaimer: Don't make me say it. Cuz I ain't saying it.**

* * *

They spent three weeks with the Professor.

By the end of the first week, Eustace had come to terms with the idea that he- a man of science- was somehow gifted with magic.

"I shouldn't imagine it would be so surprising!" Professor Kirke would say, puffing as ever on his tobacco pipe and looking mysteriously out from under his wild eyebrows. "You say you are a man of science (and you are) but you must allow that magic is a _type _of science. It is a creator and a manipulator and a discoverer, just as science is!"

The Professor could then clam up for several minutes at a time while Eustace questioned him, implored him, and interrogated him, but the only one in the whole house who seemed to get a straight answer out of the man was Edmund. Eustace shrewdly guessed that this was for one of several reasons: Edmund was, firstly, one of Professor Kirke's Kings and therefore his superior. Secondly, Edmund was a lot more polite in how he questioned the man. And thirdly, there was nothing the Professor could say in any sort of mystic tone that Edmund could not suss out in a moment's time.

In the meanwhile, the boys settled into one of the larger bedrooms. Edmund told Eustace had been the very room he and Peter had shared on their last visit. It had two beds- a large, king-sized four-poster, and a comfortable, down-stuffed cot tucked in the corner nearest the door. Edmund took the cot, which left Eustace to the bed. It was so vast that at night he swore he could feel it swaying with the moon, and it left him longing for those miserable, sea-sick weeks on the _Dawn Treader, _which in turn made him long for Reep and for Pole and for Aslan.

During the days, Edmund and Eustace explored the grounds. They were large and sprawling, covered in green hills and dark forests. Edmund was very familiar with them, and showed Eustace all the very best climbing trees (which Eustace was rather too uncoordinated to climb), the best fishing spots (which Eustace fell in), and the second-best hiding places. Eustace guessed, quite rightly, that Edmund saved the best spots for himself, as his cousin was a very secretive creature and liked to have spots were no one could find him for hours at a time.

"Besides," Edmund said, "I'll know it if you need me."

"And how would you know that?"

"You're not the only one with a Gift," Edmund replied, and gave a smile so eerie that Eustace didn't press the matter. Instead, he toddled off to find the Professor and ask if he could begin lessons, which the Professor agreed to.

By the middle of the second week, Eustace rather wished he'd _stayed _in shock; it hadn't been so bad at first, when he'd learned that magic was more a sort of way of speaking, with a certain set of words (Old Narnian) that created spells and such. But soon, the Professor had flooded his room with magical paraphernalia and the lessons in Old Narnian began to reach things like "imperfect subjunctive" and "future indicative" that confused him to no end. Really! It was bad enough having to scraping through those sorts of classes with his _native _language.

And nothing was _straight-forward _about magic, Eustace was learning. He'd been very excited to try it on the first day, but instead of his pencil standing up; it sort of rolled and turned blue. When he tried to turn on a lamp without flicking the switch, all of the electricity in the manor shorted-out for six hours. They had to throw out the food from the icebox and send the Macready and a maid to town for groceries, although Edmund insisted he could have saved everyone the trouble and by hunting in the woods.

That was another thing that got on Eustace's nerves: despite Peter's promise, Edmund was rarely to be found. Eustace could go a whole day without sighting his cousin, who came and went as he pleased. No doubt, he was relaxing in one of the many hiding spots he had refrained from showing Eustace. Nobody knew where he went. The Professor, at least, wouldn't surrender the information if he did. The Macready didn't care.

It left Eustace itching. A scientist can only stand an unanswered question for so long without tackling it himself.

But it wasn't until that second Thursday, when Eustace woke up because it was _too quiet, _that some of his questions were answered.

He lay on his back, gently breathing for a beat, and then realized it was because he couldn't hear Edmund's snoring. He sat up cautiously and squinted thought he darkness of the country night in search of Edmund's bed, which was across and diagonal from his own. Failing this, he turned on the lamp.

The bed was empty. The blankets were shifted and stuffed with pillows to look like a body.

"Really," Eustace muttered, planting his feet on the floor and feeling about below the mattress for his slippers. "This is getting to be _too _mysterious. We're in the country, for _Lion's _sake. What the _Tash _kind of skeletons could that idiot have around here?"

Eustace did not like breaking his eight-hour sleep schedule, and could be an absolute dragon when roused. Nevertheless, there was nothing for it but to investigate. He grabbed the candle by the lamp and fiddled about in his things for a match until, losing his temper, he resorted to magic.

"_Laxia!" _

The candle did nothing but the lamp suddenly flared so brightly that the bulb popped and the room was plunged back into darkness.

"Very well," Eustace said low, rather too irritated to express it. "I shall have to foot it as a blind man."

That was how, not fifteen minutes later, Eustace came to be sitting on the kitchen counter, dumbly watching as the Macready shouted herself hoarse about how asinine it was to go grabbing around in the dark when he was in a house full of medieval weaponry. Eustace's hand was being inspected by the Professor, who told him that it wasn't a very deep sword cut, but he would need a few stitches to help it along. And when Edmund _finally _appeared, it was to down two cups of coffee before starting in on the stitching.

"Like this, see?" Edmund said, pushing the curled needle through a thin pinch of his own skin to show Eustace.

Eustace stared at the dangling needle and the thin cord of black that snuck under and out of Edmund's palm, wondering if it hurt at all. But Edmund's face showed no pain, only patience, so Eustace gave Edmund his hand and watched as his cousin cleaned it and numbed it and began to sew it shut with little black X's. There was a strange, pulling sensation, but there was little to feel besides. Edmund stood, hunched over his work while Eustace watched him progress over the red slash, long fingers nimble, and Eustace knew _He's done this before._

But when? And for whom?

'_Who do you think, Scrubb?' _replied his own mind in voice suspiciously like Pole's. '_Himself. Peter. Maybe even the girls.'_

Something about that depressed Eustace deeply. He slumped, frowning at his hand.

"Don't move, Eus," Edmund reprimanded. "I'm almost finished."

The Macready and the Professor had finished their quiet conversation and were now bidding each other good night. As the Macready went for the door, she paused, glancing back at the cousins, "I'll be sure to find him a box of matches, Professor."

"Again, thank you," the Professor said. "Sleep well."

"And you, sir."

They watched her hurry out and when the door had shut, Eustace said, "How was I to know she faints at the sight of blood?"

Edmund grinned, threading the needle through a pinch of Eustace's skin, and shook his head; The Professor lit a match on the stovetop and lit his pipe and sucked on it thoughtfully, "Yes, yes. It was quite the surprise for all of us."

"Some of us more than others," Edmund said. "What were you doing anyway, blundering around the halls at this time of night?"

"Ha!" said Eustace, so loudly that both Edmund and the Professor paused to look at him. But where the Professor was curious, Edmund was dark. Something translated across his eyes and his head shook imperceptibly before he turned back to his stitching.

Eustace stared.

"Were you going to say something, dear boy?" asked the Professor.

"Er- No. No, sir. I was just..." feebly, he scrambled his thoughts. "Just clearing my throat. A-HA!" He coughed.

It was not a very convincing cough, but the Professor only smiled and stuffed his hand into his pocket. "Well, Eustace, I am glad you're all right. I should have the maids put up lanterns in the halls or some such. I daresay I'd rather not lose my star pupil to a twelfth-century spradroon! Good night!"

"Good night," called Edmund and Eustace, and they were left alone in the kitchen.

"Finished," Edmund said. He pulled away and started winding the thread up, running the needle over the candle flame. "Wiggle your hand around a little- not so much. There. How does that feel? Anything pulling?"

Eustace turned his hand over and righted it, gingerly fingering the needlework. "I don't really feel anything."

"That's the numbing medicine," Edmund said. "You'll want more by tomorrow, believe-"

"-_Where do you go all the time_?" Eustace exploded.

Edmund laughed. _Laughed _and said something in Old Narnian like, "_By the Lion's Beard" _but Eustace didn't think Lions had beards, and perhaps Edmund had meant "mane." Eustace's Old Narnian was really too rough to know. Either way, Edmund looked much more like a boy than a wizened old man when he sat on the table top across from Eustace's counter top and they took a moment to look at one another.

"So I've been missed," said Edmund. "I didn't realize that would be a factor."

"Stop talking in circles," Eustace said sourly, bringing his stitched hand to his chest and scowling.

"Squares it is," Edmund replied. "I've been haunting."

Eustace stared at him. "Haunting how? Haunting _what?"_

"Haunting by following. Haunting a friend."

"What friend?"

Edmund pulled his legs onto the table and folded them Indian-style, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his lips on his knotted hands. Under dark bangs and brows, even darker eyes took Eustace in, measuring him like Eustace's scales back home. A thrill went through him.

"I guess you already know about the gaps," Edmund muttered into his knuckles, gaze still piercing.

"The gaps between the worlds?"

"Exactly." Edmund drew back to look at his hands, listing off information as he rubbed at the lines on his palms. "In Kettering, a Planet came through to save me and Peter. Near Scotland, a Giant came through and nearly killed our dad. But... apparently, the first gap opened just after my siblings and I returned from here. In 1940."

"So long ago?"

Edmund nodded.

"Who was it?"

"Our good General- Oreius Thunderfoot."

Eustace almost slipped off the counter.

"General Oreius?" he demanded. "The same Oreius who killed Jadis' General without pause? The Oreius who routed a Fell Invasion of the Dancing Lawn and only had a scar to prove it?"

"Technically, he didn't really need the scar; there were plenty of bodies lying around."

"But, still-"

"Still," agreed Edmund. "Unfortunately, the cross from other worlds into this one undoes you. As great Oreius was in Narnia, he's only a simple man here. Peter met him the last time he came to study here. While _we _were on the Dawn Treader."

"He never said anything..."

Edmund shifted. "About that: Peter only told me. I'm technically not supposed to tell you."

Which gave Eustace pause.

"But," he said, "you did. You are. Telling me."

"High King Peter is a wise and glorious ruler," Edmund said. "But my brother is an idiot."

**OooooooooOoooooooooO**

The next morning Edmund ended up explaining his decision something like this:

"When Peter says 'Don't talk about going-on with Oreius' he doesn't intend to do anything but protect the girls. That's how he thinks, you know. 'Protect the girls, protect Edmund, save the world' in that order. But the trouble is it's rather a lot of rot. He and I have been down that whole "silence-equals-safety" road before, and it never leads anywhere good. So. Naturally, I think you'd be a rather good ally in all this. Especially now that you're starting your studies."

Eustace made a face. His cousin made it sound so... tactical.

"You don't even know if I'm going to be any good," he complained. "I mean, for all we know all I _am _good at is blowing stuff up."

"And _what _is wrong with that?"

They were sitting outside under the green shade of the hawthorn bushes. The morning was amazingly fresh and blue, and warming quickly, despite the season. Professor Kirke had cancelled Eustace's lessons, because (like all other Narnians) he believed outdoor air cured all ills. The "ill" itself was rather itchy and Edmund casually reached over every few seconds to slap Eustace's scratching fingers from the stitches.

"Ow."

"Don't pull your stitches. You'll scar." Edmund settled back, tucking his hands behind his head, and closed his eyes. Hummed _Narnian Battle Hymn _in broken chords, detached, like a fragmented memory. A honey bee landed on his shirt pocket, and crawled sleepily toward his collar before buzzing back into the brush.

Eustace watched, listening to the haunting song for a spell. "How different is he? Oreius?"

"He's got two legs," Edmund said, eyes closed against the sunlight. "And he calls me _sir." _

"But I thought he was-" He was going to say _your subject_ until the memory of Pole and Lucy came to mind, with the young Queen storytelling, in a secret voice, of stories not glorious or wild or wonderful, but of such a small thing...

**OooooooooOoooooooooO**

_The two girls sat on the bed, Lucy was cross-legged and Pole was leaning against the headboard, arms wrapped around a pillow. From behind the door, Eustace watched, only wanting to watch. And to listen. They were talking about traveling in Narnia, and how long the roads were, how silent it could become, the boredom or the cold or the threat of Fell 'round every turn. _

_"I remember I was very hungry, because I had missed breakfast, but we had to get there in time for the Dryad Festival. Peter was leading the party way on ahead, and Edmund was guarding the tail. Susan was sleeping on her mount. I think I must have been getting a headache, because I remember wanting to snap at the others. _

_"Oreius came up and asked if I was well, and I said I was fine, but I knew he didn't believe me. He put a large hand on the back of my neck and sort of squeezed it a little, then went up to Peter, said something to him. I didn't pay much attention to what he did after that, because I began to doze as well. And when I woke up, it was getting dark, we were still moving, maybe only half-way there. There was a wrapped parcel of acorn loaves resting on my lap."_

_Pole said, "Awww..." _

_Eustace rolled his eyes._

**OooooooooOoooooooooO**

"Oi. Eustace." A hand slapped at his shoulder and he blinked, coming back to the present.

"What?"

Edmund was pointing out across the yard, to a tall figure that was slightly hunched but loping easily across the grounds towards the manor. Eustace could just make out a brownish work coat and a pair of dirty, black boots. This, Eustace guessed, was Mr. Suiero.

"Exactly what were you planning?"

Edmund smirked at him. "Oh, ye of little faith."

Eustace waited.

"_Nothing_," Edmund said, like it was obvious. "We don't do anything."

"I thought you said you needed my help!"

"I do," Edmund said. Then, looking away, in Old Narnian, "_The Lion knows me and my errors."_

Eustace frowned.

"Are you... all right?" he asked, wishing briefly that Peter was there to sort things out. His cousin's head was a bag of cats- each part more fickle and slippery than the last. It sort of reminded him of Pole.

Then again, everything was reminding him of Pole, lately.

"It's just," he continued, "the whole Oreius thing really seems to have you on edge."

Edmund looked at him, his lips slowly peeling away from sharp, white canines. A cold glint filled his dark eyes.

"You don't know my edges yet, Cousin."

But he did reveal the plan, and exactly what Eustace needed to do to play his part in it.

* * *

**A/N:**

**Title courtesy of Bruce Banner from the new **_**Avengers **_**movie. Characters courtesy of Mr. C.S Lewis. **

**Forever in updating, I know. At least I'm consistent! The first sections are super-thick and elecktrum-esque, due to the fact that I was working through "The Hobbit" at the time. I think you can all see where it switches out. **

**I'm still working on Monochrome, too, so don't lose heart. I'll work extra-hard at the next chapter so that I can just **_**give it to you guys already. **_**Seriously.**

**I hope you guys are having an awesome week! Take care, all you allergy-prone individuals!**

**As Always,**

**-Tonzura123**


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